Traces

I feel your voice
like fingers on my face
each word traces a scar
The wounds are memory
but their ghosts torment
as I tremble, tongue of clay
and wish for rain
to hide in
Your words, your voice
your power
tear down my walls
again and again
and as I remember
moth-kiss touch
on twisted scars
of shame and terror
the weeping of the damned
is muted
to become only me
In the silence that is left
I feel your spirit
given freely
begin to teach mine
how to be free